


The Old Gods and the New

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three women, their Baratheon husbands, and the black-haired Baratheon babes they give birth to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Gods and the New

 

**Argella**

Orys came home from King’s Landing long before the baby was due to arrive. “The king does not want me to miss the birth of my first son,” he announced proudly. “The start of a Baratheon dynasty, the most glorious House the Stormlands will ever see, Aegon announced at court. My son and heir, the future lord of the Stormlands.”

_My father was the Storm King, king of the Stormlands, not just a mere lord. Until you killed him._ Those words had always remained unspoken between Argella and Orys. But words did not have to be said out loud to gain their potency and power.

“What if it is not a son?” She ventured to ask him that.

“It _will_ be a son,” Orys replied, in a decisive tone that brooked no argument. “I have been praying for a boy. The gods do not deny the Targaryens anything we pray for.”

_But you are not a real Targaryen. Only a Targaryen bastard born on the wrong side of the blanket._ Those words were also unspoken between husband and wife.

Argella prayed for a girl. Her prayers went unanswered, just like Argella’s prayers for her father’s safe return from battle had been cruelly unanswered.

She did not want to touch this black-haired Baratheon babe they tried to put in her arms, when she was worn and weary battling death for almost a day bringing him into this world. She did not want to love this boy who would signal the true beginning of House Baratheon, and codified the definite end of House Durrendon.

But the babe’s cries were loud and piercing. Argella’s head was pounding incessantly, and no one seemed able to make the child stop crying. So she took him in her arms. She took the babe in her arms, nursed him, and soothed him to sleep. That was her great mistake, for she could not remain indifferent to the child after that, could not keep her resolve not to love him, Baratheon or no Baratheon.

_You are my son as well_ , she whispered softly to her son. _Not just his_.

_You are a Durrendon too_ , she promised herself to tell her son one day, when he was old enough to hear it. _Not just a Baratheon._

She had not yet decided if she would also tell her son, _Your father murdered my father_.

**Cassana**

She lit candles for the Father praying that the child would be blessed with wisdom. She lit candles for the Warrior praying that the child would be strong, in mind and body.

But most of all, she lit candles for the Mother praying that the child would be a boy.

“It doesn’t matter if the babe is not a boy,” Steffon had reassured her, again and again. “We will love this child, boy _or_ girl. And there is always the next time.”

The next time would not do, Cassana knew. She had to give him a son and heir _now_. It had been a year since their wedding, and tongues were already wagging in the Stormlands, wondering if Lord Steffon Baratheon had foolishly married a barren woman.

“This is what comes of a love match,” Cassana had heard those whispers. “The Estermonts were never good enough for the lord of Storm’s End.”

Her fervently-wished for pregnancy had stopped the rumors and whispers, but the rumor mill would soon start churning again if she gave birth to a girl, Cassana knew with certainty. So she lit more candles, and she prayed every night for a son until her water finally broke. She was still praying as Maester Cressen pulled the babe out from inside her.

“It’s a boy, my lady. A plump and healthy boy,” the maester’s voice sounded almost as sweet as her son’s cries.

“Another black-haired Baratheon babe to continue the family name,” she whispered to Steffon.

Her husband was in tears. “Thank you, dearest Cassana. Thank you.”

They named the boy Robert. Robert Baratheon. As Robert grew, Cassana sometimes wondered if she should have prayed to the Father to grant wisdom to their son as often as she had prayed to the Mother that their first-born would be a boy.

**Selyse**

She wrote to Stannis when Maester Cressen told her that the babe was not long in coming. “War with the Greyjoy is coming,” was her husband’s terse reply in his letter. “I cannot leave my brother’s side and desert my duty as his Master of Ships, not at this time.”

“I will give you the good news about our son as soon as he is born, my lord husband,” Selyse wrote him back. She had no doubt that it would be a boy. How could it be otherwise, when she had prayed to every god there was, the old gods and the new?

That old fool Cressen tried to weaken her conviction. “There is no way to know for certain, my lady. Not until the babe is born.”

“I am carrying a son! He is _inside_ me, moving around, kicking me. Don’t you think I would know whether it is a boy or a girl?”

The maester looked down quickly, but not before Selyse saw the look of pity on his face.

_How dare you pity me?_   _Who do you think you are?_ She had never liked the maester, but her husband thought of the old man almost like a father.

The look of pity was back on Cressen’s face when he silently handed the babe to Selyse. _Black hair_ , Selyse thought, smiling. A black-haired Baratheon babe. She could not wait to write to Stannis, telling him the joyful news _._

_I have given Stannis a son. Robert and Delena are not the only ones who can make sons._

_I have given Stannis an heir. He will not be so indifferent to me now. To us, his wife and son._

But why was Cressen looking at her with that look of pity on his face? Selyse’s gaze inspected the babe more closely, and she saw what was missing. A girl. She had given birth to a girl.

“No!” She blurted out, angry at the gods, angry at the curse Robert and Delena had put on her marriage bed, angry at her husband for not being here.

But in time, Selyse grew to love that child. A love she had never felt for anything or anyone before. When Shireen was struck with greyscale and almost died, Selyse cursed the gods even harder.

_Why are you punishing me for praying for a son, when you never granted me that wish in the first place?_  

_If you let my daughter live, I will never again pray for a son_ , she bargained with the old gods and the new. Shireen lived, and Selyse kept her promise. She never stopped trying for a son - never stopped working, plotting and scheming for a son, for to get her husband in bed was a most difficult undertaking - but she stopped praying to the gods for a son.

Until the day Melisandre arrived at Dragonstone with a different god. A red god who promised Selyse everything she had fervently wished for, and more. Selyse prayed and prayed, and never stopped praying. 


End file.
